Ever After
by Professor Maka
Summary: After a year in his world, Soul Evans didn't think Princess Maka of Albarn had much left to learn. Apparently, he had been mistaken. A bonus Epilogue for my 2016 Resbang fic Awoken.


**A/N: This is a bonus epilogue for my 2016 Resbang fic Awoken, a late birthday gift for Sahdah. There is smut. Read at your own risk.**

* * *

He wakes up cold, empty, rumpled sheets next to him on the bed and a cover half flung over his body.

 _Where's Maka?_

Soul never sleeps well without her there, harkens back to the nightmares and anxiety of the days before her constant presence and his pursuit of counseling, chemical balance, and his own path in general.

Sitting up and scooting off the bed, he stands then strides across the room. It's rare Maka can't sleep, but he'll be damned if he lets her stew in whatever's bugging her. It's not until he's halfway down the hall that he realizes he's slightly chilly-it's been an unseasonably cool Fall-and that he probably should have grabbed a robe. Or _something_. Hearing the soft slide of paper that signals a turning page as he approaches his practice room, a sound he's come to associate inextricably with his princess, the thought is shoved aside and he walks into the open room, approaching the figure seated on the couch on one wall.

Feet tucked up under her and wearing one of his old school tees and nothing else, book on the arm of the sofa and face impassive as she scans the page with tired yet eager eyes, Maka could currently be the star of some sort of ad campaign for a college or maybe for late night study snacks, if a slightly racy one. Seeing her there, Soul is reminded he hasn't grabbed a robe and his growing interest at seeing her looking so sleepily determined, so damned cute, will be more than obvious. Then he frowns, because he's also worried she can't sleep, and figures it won't be a problem either way.

Not that it really would be. Not that it's anything she hasn't seen before.

Surprised she hasn't looked up from the thick textbook that so absorbs her, that she has yet to notice his presence, Soul clears his throat and she starts slightly, green eyes widening for the barest instant before crinkling up at him in a tired smile.

"Hello," Maka says, stifling a slight yawn. Her eyes scan him for a moment and her smile widens into a full blown grin. "Couldn't even be bothered to put on some boxers?"

"Figured it's nothin' you haven't seen." He grins back down at her lazily.

Biting her lip for a moment as she looks at him, she ends with a shrug. "I suppose not. But you could at least pretend to have boundaries."

"Naaaaah," he laughs and, moving the last few steps to the couch, sits down next to her, stifling the urge to invade her space because he'd actually like to know what's keeping her awake. "Can't sleep?" he says after a pause as she blinks his way, eyes heavy.

"I have a test coming up in corporate law," she answers with a laden sigh." I can't afford not to do well, you know that. So I'm studying."

"I thought you said last week your test is in October." Soul's pretty sure that's what she'd said, anyway. Admittedly, he'd been a bit preoccupied with the way she was running her hands down his sides at the time.

"It is," she agrees, biting her lip as she moves her eyes pointedly away from him and to the textbook.

"Maka, that's at least two weeks away," he reminds her, more than a bit puzzled. Sure Maka is diligent, it's one of those things he both admires and occasionally finds the slightest bit annoying when it draws her attention far from him for days on end, but this is ridiculous even for her.

"I _know_. Honestly, I should have started last week." She sighs her exasperation, turning a page with more force than she would normally show a book. Maka has a certain reverence for knowledge that generally extends to the pages that convey it, though the spines encasing those pages are generally fair game. Soul has rarely seen her this out of sorts about anything, especially not a test. It doesn't make _sense_.

Elbow on one bare knee, he places his chin in his palm, eying his girlfriend speculatively. Her own eyes scan the book again, but her gaze is glassy and he can tell she takes in little of what she reads.

"You okay?"

Biting her lip she shrugs, eyes still on the page.

"Maka?"

A deep sigh and Maka closes the textbook, eyes lifting tiredly to meet his. "No, okay? I'm not."

"What's wrong?" Spikes of worry shoot through him, poison tendrils clawing at his heart, sharply irrational. There are moments when he still can't believe she's fallen into his life. Moments when he can't believe such a literally otherworldly person could possibly want to share her life with him- _him_ of all people. Those moments are less since they began sharing a bed, less still the longer she remains, the longer she accepts him so wholly, but old wounds run deep, and there are moments that they sting as though still fresh.

Soul knows she doesn't believe in forever, scoffs at happily ever after, and sometimes he fears she will leave, vanish, turn to smoke between his fingers and leave his life as empty and lifeless as she'd found it.

"It's just-" her eyes scan his as she clutches her book, knuckles white, and his heart nearly stops. It's him. It has to be. It's _him_ and-

Maka places the book roughly down in the slight space between them and makes the most pained half growl, have shriek he's ever heard from her. Not even Prince Ox had elicited such an emotion as he'd relentlessly stalked her to claim her hand in marriage last year. Soul's heart plummets to his bare feet.

It's _definitely_ him.

"Your corporations make no sense!" she finally lets out in a half shriek.

 _It's definitely not him._

His heart unclenches, and her intensity has it thawing, warming. So much passion in her small frame, so much life. _God_ he loves her.

"They aren't people, but they get treated as people, but only sometimes? But they protect people financially but people invest in them but they can ruin people financially? It makes no _sense_." Her eyes are wide and a little wild as she scoots closer in her upset. "Back home, there are no such things-only crafters and their guilds, and traders. It's all so-strange and-" Maka lets out a breath, takes one in, lets it out again, and shakes her head. "Stop smiling, it isn't funny."

Really, Soul can't help it. It's as much relief as amusement, and he knows she'll conquer this like she conquers everything.

"It's sort of funny," he says.

"It's not." Maka crosses her arms over her chest. "Your world is _ridiculous_."

"...says the woman with a talking cat fairy godmother."

Her face screws up and she looks about to argue, but then deflates.

"I know it's just-different, okay?" Her voice is too quiet. The type of quiet that means she's actually worried. Soul feels guilty for laughing. "But I-I'm having trouble getting it, and I _need_ to get it."

"Fine," he breathes out his own exasperation. " _Fine_." Because he can't help her with this, but he knows someone who can. Who will. Eagerly, even. It just pains him ever so slightly to have to resort to this.

"Fine?" She blinks at him.

"Yeah, fine, alright, I'll call Wes. He's been dying to visit anyway, keeps texting me about how he needs to get to know his future sister in law better, whatever, so fine."

Her mouth gapes. "I-" she shakes her head. "I mean of course I'm happy to spend time with your brother, but I'm not sure-"

"Wes can help." Soul cuts her off, trying to stem the tide of her confusion.

"I-how?" Maka blinks at him again. "I thought-I mean, he's a musician, yes? Like you?"

"Yes," he agrees. "But his second major was business, and he's being groomed to take over as CEO of Evans Music once his concert career slows down. Wes can help," he repeats, trying not to sound bitter. He shouldn't be bitter-Soul loves his new path as a jazz pianist, had never wanted the life his brother leads, but it's hard not to be a bit resentful when you are the widely acknowledged family disappointed.

As much as it usually doesn't bother him, as much as he loves his life now, he'll never quite be over it. Some wounds always ache.

Anyway, the way Maka's face lights up at the news is well worth any and all pangs of unworthiness.

"You really think he can help, that he'd be willing?" She claps her hands together once in her excitement.

"Wes lives to butt into my life, so yeah, safe to say he'll be all over this shit. So. Maybe you can lay off the studying and come back to bed?"

He's hopeful. Maka has relaxed visibly, sitting back against the cushions with a small smile.

"Maybe. Not sleepy though."

That's definitely something he can work with. Not sleepy Maka in the middle of the night has possibilities he doesn't at all object to.

"Could help with that?" Soul waggles his eyebrows suggestively, and she smacks his arm.

" _No!_ " Maka screeches, and his face falls, unbidden, hope crushed. "I mean-" she quickly corrects, and hope returns. For as much as she enjoys their time together, for as much as she's as into it as he is and initiates just as often (she had certainly had no issues doing so earlier in the evening), Maka still gets flustered talking about sex on occasion. Though other times-a pleasant shiver runs through him at the thought of those rare moments when she's spoken to him about these things, open and wanting, including the first. Maka is nothing if not a woman of layers, some of them contrasting. He adores them all, even when they frustrate him to hair tearing heights.

"Maybe-" she continues, "but I was hoping-maybe-" her eyes flit to the piano, gleaming, face open.

"You want me to play the song?"

"I want you to play the song."

"And then you'll go to bed?"

"And then _we'll_ go to bed. _Together_." The way she emphasizes the last word is a promise, and Soul suppresses a shiver. Maka never, _never_ fails to keep her promises.

"Okay," he swallows thickly, willing down his rising interest in what comes next, moving to his feet to stride to the piano.

The bench is cold against his bare ass, but he ignores it. Anyway, it definitely cools his rising heat, so that's something. Glancing back over his shoulder to the sofa, he notices she's clutched a throw pillow to her chest, knees up, legs on display as she waits, anticipation clear on her face. His heart flutters in that way only she can cause and he offers her a wide grin before turning back to play her song.

It's not a lullaby, it's nothing like a lullaby-Maka is too fierce for such a thing to represent her soul-no. It is fast and clear, with high, strong notes that speak determination, intelligence, beauty, strength. Yet there is a light undertone, something of empathy, something of compassion.

Soul doesn't know what spurs him on, but the song shifts to something new. Her drive is still there, her light, but it is supported, bolstered by something darker. There is cynicism, low and brooding, hurt, self-loathing, and a deeply concealed care. It's him. Or it used to be, but as it mixes with her song, it begins to change just as he has. In that alchemy, a strength emerges, a drive, a compassion less buried. Darker than hers, the edge of cynicism still sharp, still cutting deep, but also loyalty and something like passion shines through.

This song is new. This song isn't just her, it's him-it's them. It's _everything_.

Eventually, it trails off. Soul has no idea how it ends. He hopes it never does.

Finger striking a last high, clear note, a G that is so essentially Maka it makes his heart ache, he feels her presence just before a hand falls on his shoulder. He can't say where it came from, can't say why _now_ , only knows the song has been haunting his soul for some time, maybe for as long as she has. It feels good, to finally get it out. He'd meant it to be for her, but maybe it's just as much for him. Their song. _Theirs_.

The hand squeezes, warm, and Soul turns, swinging his legs over the bench to face her.

" _Maka_ ," he begins, the intensity of her gaze startling, but he never gets to say more because she's _on him,_ lips silencing further words, body hot against his as she straddles his lap on the bench.

His brain short circuits at the flitting thought that surely she can't mean to do this _on the piano,_

But with the way she's kissing him, the way one hand grips his shoulder for balance as the other reaches down to grasp him, he realizes she does. Oh how she does.

Her mouth moves away to taste his neck, his chest, as she strokes, and oh, it's warm and good and ah, that's probably too good if he wants to feel more of her, so he slides a hand from her waist to trail the curve of her breast before sliding it up to fit neatly in his palm. It slows her as he knew it would, gives him room to breath as she arches her chest deeper into his hand and scrapes her blunt, perfect teeth along his neck. The moan that escapes is raw with feeling, not just the sensations, the pleasure she offers, but for her, _with her._

It stirs her, the sound she pulls from him, Soul sees it in her eyes, green flame, as she pulls back to meet his gaze, one hand reaching back to steady herself on his shoulder before she lowers herself.

It's bliss, as every time is bliss, to feel her, all of her, and he breathes her name, low and needy, as his own hand reaches back for purchase, hitting the piano in a discordant clash of keys. Her legs end up slung around her waist, her own feet finding slim purchase on the rail beneath the bench. It's new, and a little strange, and he realizes through the haze of feeling her, the delirium it always always brings, that he'll have to do most of the work, so he plants his feet more firmly on the ground on front of the bench and _goes_ , enjoying the warmth, the feel, the sound of her, all slickness and heat and gasps of his name as he moves up into her again again again.

There will never be a time when he doesn't revel in this, in _her_.

It's over too soon as it always is, but her unraveling is his own and they are left only with panting and sweating, her slender frame warm and slick as she nuzzles her head into the crook of his neck.

"I liked the song," she finally whispers, still a little breathless.

The chuckle comes unbidden. "I could tell."

Maka smacks his chest lightly, moving her head up to look at him.

"I'm serious!"

"I know." Soul smiles. "I'm glad you liked it."

More than glad, but he's said enough.

"Bedtime?" Maka asks, smiling back.

"Bedtime," he agrees.

They both get up, and hand in hand make their way to the bed they've shared for months, content to fall asleep in one another's arms.

Maka may not believe in happily ever after, and maybe there's no such thing, but this, falling asleep in the arms of his princess every night, is surely close enough.


End file.
